No Ordinary Thing
by iPandaz
Summary: A little look into what could have been… KIBBS


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No Ordinary Thing

Disclaimer: Emma, Andrew and Agent Portas belong to me, none of the others do though, sadly.

Spoilers: None

Warning: Character death.

Summary: A little look into what could have been… KIBBS

Author's Note: Trying something a little bit different this time, three chapters each from the point of view of a different character. Let me know what you think of this first one. ;)

Not beta'd so all mistakes are mine.

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**Chapter 1 - Birthday**

I only have a few memories of my biological father, a series of snap shots and short films that my younger self had recorded and retained. I remember looking at a tall blond haired man with grey blue eyes as he shouted and yelled at my Mom, being cast aside by him as he swaggered past, ignoring my request for a story. None of these translated as happy memories, but instead leave a bitter taste in my mouth whenever I think upon them.

I remember being about five years old and insanely jealous of my best friend. She had a happy family. She had a father who cared. I would see him taking her to school and bringing her ice creams in the park. I just didn't understand it. How could she have a warm, loving father while I had a distant, cold figure who barely entered into my life?

But my Mom more than made up for it. She started working part time after I was born so she could spend more time with me. She baked me cookies and made me lemonade on hot summer days. The lack of a father figure didn't affect me as much when she was around. And she always smiled at me, that is one of my most vivid memories. Even when my father yelled at her, even when she wanted to cry, she never broke down in front of me.

Until the day she finally snapped. She couldn't take anymore and packed up our bags and took us back to DC. It was the only time she ever let me see the tears that she had tried to hide from me for so long. It had been a long time coming, she would tell me when I was a little older. She had tried to make the marriage work, but it was just too much. She couldn't put up with the abuse and cheating any longer, she didn't want me to grow up in an environment like that.

It was cold when we got to DC. I remember dozing in the back seat as mom frantically tried to make arrangements for the night. We had no where to go and very little money to our name. So she turned to the one person she knew could help us.

My first impression of Agent Gibbs was not a good one. He looked big and frightening, piercing blue eyes swept over me as mom carried me into the house. He followed with our bags. The next day, he stayed home from work to help mom sort things out, there was too much for them to do so I was left to my own devices. I was soon bored with colouring in and drawing pictures, so I explored.

The house was big, the ceilings had exposed wood beams and generally felt a bit dull, like it was lived at but not lived in. The basement was a completely different story. It was dimly lit by a light overhead that washed the room in a glow of orange. There were work tools everywhere and most impressive of all, in the centre rested the cabin and deck of a small sailing boat. It became my plaything for the afternoon. Hide and seek, pirates, castles and princesses. It became a gateway to a whole new world than changed on my whim.

That's where mom found me later that evening, curled up inside the cabin, fast asleep.

* * *

I don't remember exactly when Agent Gibbs became more approachable. It happened gradually and over time, but I soon found that he wasn't so scary after all. He's an early riser, always has been, always will be. Mom on the other hand loved her sleep. But who told a six year old that? I was used to waking up at 5 or 6 in the morning and then going to bother my Mom, but that routine changed when I realised that Agent Gibbs actually made nicer pancakes. (His waffle-making skills needed more improvement though.)

So from then on, I'd wake up and go bother _him_. He didn't seem to mind. In fact, I think he even liked the company… Not that a small child scoffing pancakes is particularly good for conversation but still, he didn't seem like the kind of person who had a lot of people to talk to. In fact, I thought he looked rather lonely. Lucky we moved in because otherwise he'd be rattling around in a big empty house all alone.

I don't think we ever meant for the move into his home to be as permanent as it has become, but to be truthful, this place felt more like home to me than our old house down near Little Creek ever could. I suddenly found myself with a sort of father figure who did all the fatherly things like picking me up from school now and then and taking me to the playground.

It was also around this time that he and Mom started getting closer. Obviously I thought nothing of it at the time, it was just nice to see Mom laughing. I hadn't heard her laugh like that in quite some time and it made me happy that she was happy. The big cold house I observed in the first few days of moving in disappeared to be replaced by a warm home. We even managed to decorate my room in pink and white.

It felt nice to have a family again, and even though he wasn't really my dad, it didn't really matter to me, because Agent Gibbs treated me better than my biological father ever had.

I still vividly remember the day Agent Gibbs became 'Dad'. I'd just gotten home from a sleepover at a friend's house. A couple of days earlier, Mom's divorce had been finalised and we all went out to celebrate. Me, mom, Agent Gibbs, Abby, Tony, Tim, Ziva and Ducky. Mom's old team and closest friends. It was a wonderful evening, of course I didn't really understand the concept of divorce at that time, but I knew that I probably wouldn't ever see my biological father again. It saddens me now that the news didn't even make the slightest impact on my younger self. I was blissfully happy.

So back to that day. I was sitting in the kitchen happily telling anyone who would listen about the games we played and the movies we watched and how many toys Anna had in her room. It was different that day, the room felt different, mom and Agent Gibbs felt different. When I finally paused to breathe, I noticed that Mom had that face on, the anxious face.

"Mommy, what's wrong?" I asked, hoping that this wouldn't be the day that she decided we needed our own place. She had told me when we moved in that this wouldn't be permanent, but naïve as I was then, I vainly hoped that because she seemed so happy here, she wouldn't want to move either.

She didn't answer immediately.

"Do we have to leave?" Panic. I didn't want to leave. I never wanted to leave. "I want to stay here!" And the floodgates opened. "I don't wanna move, mommy, please don't make us leave!"

I cried and I cried until I felt my Mom's gentle embrace picking me up from the chair and holding me close.

When I finally calmed down again after long minutes of comforting words and soothing touches, I wiped my face, steeling myself (as much as a seven year old could) for a long hard battle. I wasn't leaving without a fight.

"Do you really want to stay?" Mom asked, her tone apprehensive.

I nodded and hiccupped.

"Are you sure? Because… sweetie this is an important decision."

I nodded again, more forcefully this time. "Yes." I told her. "I want to stay here with you and Agent Gibbs. And I want a little brother."

The last item on my list was something I'd thought about for a long time. It was boring being the only child in the house, I wanted a sibling I could play with and help take care of.

Mom was stunned by this unexpected revelation, but Agent Gibbs just chuckled. Mom and I both glared at him for laughing at such an inopportune moment. He wagged his head at the floor, clearly not willing to share what was so amusing to him and instead turned to wrap his arms around the both of us.

"Well, I guess the lady of the house has spoken."

* * *

Everything's been wonderful since then. In fact, I'm heading home from college right now. I'll be there for the weekend to celebrate Daddy's 70th birthday. He just doesn't know we've made plans yet, even though we do something every year.

I quietly let myself into the familiar old house. It's a little worse for wear now but it is nonetheless home.

I pass my kid brother in the kitchen. He was born when I was eight and a half, my wish for a little brother finally granted. Honestly, I hated him. It was nothing like I had imagined. He took all the attention away from me and I guess I just wasn't prepared for the change. Luckily, Dad knew exactly what was on my mind as I sulked and refused to talk to anyone. He took me to the park and gently explained that they did still love me but my brother was younger and so needed a little more looking after. I, on the other hand was a big girl and could look after myself. I felt much better after that and returned to my usual chatty self after a little more persuasion and help from a large serving of ice cream.

But Andrew and I get on just fine now, in fact I'd say that we're probably closer than most siblings. We understand that our family very nearly didn't happen and that although there have been fights and scraps, we're still together and that must be reason enough to cherish the close bond we share.

I dump my overnight bag in my room and set about finding my parents. Dad- not a difficult task as he's _always_ in the basement, especially since he retired two years ago. It was a monumental decision, we never thought he would _ever_ retire. We thought he'd just carry on as he always had done in the past. But as he had said, his body was getting old and simply not what it used to be.

"Besides," he said with a grin, "I've got plenty of boats to build and I can spend more time with my kids."

So he retired. And became a _major_ pain in the ass. More so than usual. The only way my parents survived this period of their marriage was Mom's ingenious plan of sending Dad out to train younger agents (with the Director's permission, of course) and ready them for work in the field. He had something to occupy his time and energies when he wasn't building his boat and the three of us could rest easy knowing Dad wasn't about to go loopy because he had nothing to do.

"Where's Mom?" I ask as I open the fridge in search of some juice.

"Out." Andrew says through a mouthful of dried cornflakes. I wrinkle my nose in disgust, hoping that his horrible 11-year-old preteen habits would be something that he grows out of. Quickly.

"Has she bought everything we need?"

"Mmhm." Chew swallow. "Guests are arriving at seven."

I nod and leave him to his own devices.

The basement hasn't changed much in the 13 years I've lived in this house (one year as a guest, the others as its owner). It is still lit by lights attached to the ceiling, it still has an orange glow. But the boat in the centre is different. It's smaller and sleeker, designed for speed rather than slow, lazy sailing as the other one was. He's only ever finished one boat, which he named after his first daughter. It's now sitting down in the marina, and still after all these years no one can figure out _how_ he got it out of the basement. When Andrew was younger, he thought the there might be a secret passageway that led straight from the basement to the marina and spent many afternoons looking for the switch. He never did find it.

"Hi Daddy." I greet as I descend the stairs.

His face splits into a wide grin. "Hey princess."

I run over to give him a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Are you nearly done yet? You've been building that thing for years."

"Can't rush carpentry, Em."

I roll my eyes. "_You_ don't rush carpentry. You said it would be ready for my 20th birthday! That's less than eight months away!"

He merely shrugs. "Change of plan." Straightening up and putting the sander aside, he inspects me more closely. "Why are you home?"

"Gee, thanks Dad. A girl can't come home to visit her family every now and again?" I tease.

He's still suspicious, his eyes narrowed, brows knit, and he opens his mouth to ask another question. A slam of the front door saves me from having to answer and I dash upstairs muttering something about Mom and groceries.

* * *

Dad officially knows something is up when Mom starts making his favourite dishes (the man has the nose of a bloodhound). He came into the kitchen a little while ago to investigate a little and to try to sneak a taste, which Mom severely punished by rapping him on the knuckles with the spatula. Twice.

The doorbell begins ringing at five minutes to seven, or 1855 hours as Dad was quick to correct. Tony, followed by Ziva, then Tim and finally Abby. Dinner tonight will be a bittersweet affair- it will be the first without Ducky, who passed away peacefully in his sleep a few months ago. Dad was hit particularly hard because Ducky was one of his oldest and closest friends. We all knew it was coming because Ducky had lived to a grand old age, but still you can never prepare yourself for these things. How you think you will react and how you actually do react are totally different. We were devastated, but when I was asked to say a few words at his funeral, I found that they came to me easily.

He was sort of the grandfatherly figure that everyone respected and loved. What I will remember most about him is his ability to talk and talk and talk. He was a great story teller, and whilst some of the stories probably weren't suitable for our young ears (meat puzzles, ants nests…) they were entertaining and the way in which they were told thoroughly enthralled us.

Everyone's seated at the table and I take the chance to observe each of them. The person who has changed the least is probably Abby. She's still a gothy cheerleader with her all black, gothic style dress. The pig-tails are gone though, and her hair is shorter, above shoulder length. She is as bubbly and effervescent as ever. The biggest difference is probably seen in Tony, with Tim coming a close second. Tony has matured a lot since I first met him. There are still flashes of the boyish grin and mischievous smile but he's steadier and more sensible, a change which we started to see just after he got is own team. He even got married a few years ago, a huge shock to us all. He apologised for his wife's absence tonight. 'She's visiting her parents,' he says with an eye roll, as if that is no where near as important as this dinner is. Tim looks much the same, but he has grown in confidence and skill. He's no longer the stuttering probie who constantly feels like he should bow down to others. He too has his own team and is obviously relishing in being in charge for once.

Ziva. She replaced Mom when she moved to Little Creek with my biological father. Ziva is one of those people who are hilarious yet terrifying at the same time. We've all heard rumours about her background and whilst some of the stories must have been wildly exaggerated, there is after all no smoke without fire. The years seem to have softened her, perhaps working with NCIS has made her less… I don't know, assassin-like? She's still making errors in her spoken English but I can testify that I have seen a marked improvement. Overall, she's more approachable, friendly and chatty, a great conversation partner should you find herself stuck in a lift with her, and I know that for a fact.

Finally, there's Mom and Dad. Of course they both look older now but in essentials, they haven't changed very much at all. Dad is more mellow, less bark and less bite. He started putting family first after he and Mom got married. His team said that Dad getting married was probably the best thing that could have happened to _them_ because suddenly they had at least two weekends a month when they weren't working.

"It's like Christmas, but all the time!" Said Agent Portas to me one day as I sat in Dad's swivelling chair. "If only he'd gotten married sooner…"

Mom, well, I don't think she's changed at all. She's still an independent woman and a damn good agent who can still made grown men quiver in their boots. She's had to sacrifice field work for a more flexible schedule but she says that she doesn't at all regret the choice she made.

So this is my family and my extended family. We're closer than close because of everything we've come through together. It's not conventional, it's certainly not normal, but there is absolutely nothing I would change, nothing at all. Sometimes, when I'm waiting to cross the road or sitting in a coffee shop with my friends I think I see someone who resembles my biological father. Of course I'd never recognise him even if I did actually see him, but these moments make me wonder about what would have happened to me if Mom hadn't left. What sort of person would I be? What would I be doing? I will never find the answers to those questions, but I know that I would not be the person I am today without the love and support of all these people around me, and I am glad that Mom had the courage to say 'enough is enough', for the both of us.

TBC

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A/N2: And so we come to end the end of chapter one... Liked it? Hated it? Let me know. Constructive criticism is always welcome.


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